


Tears of Honey

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Canon Compliant, Hurt Original Percival Graves, M/M, Magic, Post-Canon, Protective Credence Barebone, Suicidal Thoughts, Tender Sex, The Power Of Love, Unofficial Sequel, everyone cries, frantic kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Grindelwald is caught, and so Graves is now free.but it's bittersweet.His lost boy Credence is still out there, wandering the streets, unaware.





	Tears of Honey

**Author's Note:**

> lemme just tell you ive re read the og fic about seven times. and im still sad and salty so here you go.
> 
> edit 1/22/2017:  
> this is a fix it/ending for Honey and Ash, which was by my good friend Eddie, and removed by him for his own personal reasons. for context, it was a canon set AU where graves and credence knew each other, graves was not a Really nice guy, and grindelwald got to him by using credence's face while coming over for a visit. there's a lot of angst and pain, the original fic being an amazing 6k jam packed with that shit, and my sequel quite short in comparison.

Graves didn’t even feel like getting up, even if he could have now.

There wasn’t an obvious change, not like being freed from shackles, and suddenly his power returned, no. It was more like being stuck somewhere, deep underground in a cave without light, or frozen in a desolate wasteland, until one moment, he could see the sun, feel a breeze against his face, and he knew, before hot tears even started to fall, that somehow, Grindelwald had been defeated. His power was being controlled, contained, for a brief moment. 

Graves knew he should run, should smash through the wall of his magically built prison and go far as he could, before he couldn’t. Before Grindelwald escaped, and came after him, and didn’t let him get away a second time. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to. There was no point. Though in the end, the need to know exactly if he was just imagining it all, or it was real won out over his perpetual self hatred. 

He got to his feet, and instantly staggered into a wall, bare feet dragging on the floor, cold wood biting into hyper sensitive skin, the multiple uses of the  _ crucio _ over the past few days had been excruciating. Fitting, that. It had worn him down enough until he revealed his deception, at first, then it had just been a tool for amusement, to stir the boredom. He didn’t answer a question right, he didn’t answer fast enough, that was a perfect excuse.

The president had known about his law bending, and she had warned him to stop it, so he had. He’d stolen his beautiful boy’s memories, the only moments of happiness he’d had in his miserable life. For that, above all else, Graves knew, rightly so, that he deserved to die. He’d been so selfish, instead of taking Credence, and just running when he could have. Now it was too late. Now the boy would grow up and move on and never know how loved he could have been. 

Graves finally lifted a hand to unlock the door, which wasn’t even locked anymore, it was just an ordinary closet door, and the normally welcome sight of his living room made his stomach turn over. Grindelwald had been there. Had lived here.  Taken Graves’ face and life like it was nothing, and in that short span of time, just seven days, he’d wrought havoc, and no one had stopped him. Grindelwald had come to visit him, to extract information, when he got bored or tired with pretending to do Graves’ job, so he said, bored with all the office lackeys and the president herself being so unaware. 

Unaware that Graves was currently a prisoner in his own home, and not the one trying to hunt down the obscurus, for that’s what it  _ had _ been. It had been Credence. He’d thought. He’d suspected. He’d not gotten a chance to confirm his suspicions, because by then, it had been too late. 

The sunshine streaming through his living room windows was harsh, too warm, even through the clouds that indicated the crashes and booms hadn’t all been in his head. It had rained overnight, and now, he was free. Free to… what? Claw his way back into his life? Turn himself in? Insist he’d not allowed anything, he’d tried to fight the entire way, only to lose horribly, unmatched, and unbeatable against Grindelwald, and without his wand, why, he’d had half a chance.

The best he could do was light the fireplace, and stare endlessly into the orange and red flames, not willing to stretch up, to reach for a palmful of powder, to turn them emerald green and call the president herself. She’d be so disappointed in him, maybe it was just better to go on letting her think he was dead. He’d have time later, to set things right. 

He summoned a blanket from the couch, cast a quick cleaning charm, to rid the dust and any trace of the man, and then wrapped up in it, giving into the urge to shiver. He’d been kept in only his sleep pants, told that the rest of his wardrobe was needed to help ‘ _ maintain the illusion. _ ’ 

Somehow, he’d expected worse things to be done to him, kept in such a vulnerable state, but the man must have read his mind, seen his glowering and he was quick to correct him.

“I only have use for fragile things, to bend and break them and shape them to my design. You’re far too old and brittle for me. Fear not. I have no interest in your body. Not when I can use it how I see fit, just like this.” He’d blown Graves a kiss and vanished from the room, laughing the whole way. 

It didn’t stop him from being utterly disgusted, and the idea that Credence fitted into his idea of a perfect tool to be used only made him more concerned and angry with himself.

* * *

 

He didn’t know when he fell asleep in front of the fire, but at some point, he woke up, slumped over against his arm on the ground, the blanket loosely covering him, almost too warm with so much heat emanating right against his face and side. When he glanced to the windows, it was dark once more, and he knew, it was time to start working on the wards again. 

If Grindelwald did get out and attempt to return, the least Graves could do was ensure he couldn’t just sneak inside his home, he’d need to make a substantial amount of noise, and destruction that others would notice in the building.

He got to his knees and started to stand, bringing the blanket with him, only to turn around and find someone sitting on the couch, dark gaze locked onto him.

“No.”

It was a dream, a nightmare, some kind of trick. Credence couldn’t be here. If Grindelwald had got what he wanted, they’d have left together, or if the boy had refused, he was planning to take his magic, his power for himself, and then work to bring about his dark vision of a perfect world. He’d been defeated, somehow, so how could Credence be there by himself?

“You’re not real.”

Maybe it was Grindelwald himself, bent on torturing him one last time before using actual spells on him. He was so good at wearing other people’s faces. Perhaps it was his final trick before just killing him, ending the torture.

“He said I was unteachable. You never said you would teach me. I wasn’t a witch. So I thought. But I forgot. Until I had a dream, and saw your face.”

“This isn’t funny, now stop it, please. You’ve got what you wanted. I’m here, broken, begging you to stop.”

Credence got up from the couch slowly, and came over to him, to where he didn’t remember collapsing back onto the ground, clutching the blanket like it was the most important and protective thing in his possession, barring his wand, which he still didn’t know where it was. Grindelwald had taken it with him, last he knew, so he could test how well it obeyed him.

Graves hadn’t surrendered willingly, so he’d hoped it would fail.

There was no sign of it now, he’d tried to summon it, to feel for it, but all he could taste was smoke, and a spicy tinge of cinnamon. It could have been foreign magic, like Grindelwald, or it could have been something else entirely. What if that was the aura of the Obscurus? 

Could it be?

“Mister Graves… you tried to erase yourself from my mind, but, I  _ love _ you. How could you think that it was even possible to remove such a deep seated feeling?”

He didn’t know what he was saying, poor thing, he was clearly delirious, after all that Grindelwald had done, to them both, there was absolutely no way Credence could possibly feel that, could even put words to it. 

“He hurt me. I know you would never do that. He told me that I was useless. Then he tried to apologize, tried to win me back, when he saw the things I could do. It was too late. I knew it wasn’t  _ you _ by then. Long before, even. When he looked at me, and he could have kissed me, but instead chose to hit me, I  _ knew  _ before that. Even if I hadn’t remembered everything eventually, I could never forget how it felt to be held, to be touched, and kissed by you. It’s okay. I’m here, I’m safe, I’m with you.”

Graves was full on sobbing now, he couldn’t help it, his entire body quaked with his grief, and he barely even noticed that Credence was the one holding him upright, cradling him in what should have been fragile arms. He was pressed against the boy’s chest, held over hollow bones, just like those of birds just below the surface of his raggedy clothing, and a rapid heartbeat that told him he was real, he was there. That it wasn’t a trick, at least, not one of Grindelwald’s making.

“You’re too lovely, too young, too good. I’ve ruined you. I  _ did _ hurt you.”

“I had dreams, flashes of memories for days, but when I met him, it felt so wrong. It was like, I could sense you were in trouble, even though it seemed like you were standing in front of me.”

“The bastard was here, when I got home from taking… from  _ stealing _ your memories. He didn’t even fight very hard, but I lost…”

“You’re not all powerful, Mister Graves. You were probably distracted, hmm? Thinking of me, maybe?”

Credence was petting his hair, stroking it out of his face, and wiping his tears away with gentle hands as he smiled kindly.

Graves didn’t deserve that, he needed the boy to be angry, to be hurt, to hate him. He wanted to be punished for what he’d done. The disaster that had snowballed from one little mistake.

“You can’t… you can’t want this. I’m supposed to be all powerful. I was. It was why he wanted to be me. He needed my position.”

“He didn’t do a very good job. I saw through him in an instant. Even without the dreams, he was very… off.”

Graves shook his head, inadvertently shifting closer, rubbing his cheek into what was warm bare skin, when had Credence’s shirt fallen open? He didn’t know. He reached out, up, and found the boy’s face, skin damp with… tears also? 

He pulled back, and looked Credence in the eye properly, and that beautiful dark gaze was shining in the firelight, as his pink lips parted in another smile, sweeter and sadder than he had ever seen. 

Even when they would say goodbye, Credence had been too strong to cry in front of him. Now all he wanted to do was kiss the boy. Pray for absolution. He didn’t even believe in god, he never had. But Credence, why, he’d worship him, gladly.

“I love you anyway.”

“Credence… it  _ is _ you.”

He didn’t quite sing with power, but that aura around him was one of utter chaos contained under a thin film of tranquility. Like he was aware that he housed a maelstrom of power, and simply used it whenever he wanted to, like to find Graves in the first place, when he’d only ever apparated them there, the boy had no idea of the address. All that did was remind him of those times, those days and nights and memories he’d all taken unwillingly from Credence. Once more, he wanted to grovel, to beg, to  _ hear _ he was forgiven and condemned all at the same time.

“Mister Graves… I thought I would never see you again, the real you. Will you please, please let me kiss you?”

His voice about broke on the last word, and it made Graves’ eyes sting anew,

“Credence, my boy, I couldn’t-”

“Okay then, I’ll do it myself.”

Credence gently let him back down to rest over the blanket, and then promptly sat on his lap, straddling his hips, to lean down and press his lips to Graves’ own. His shirt was hanging open, fabric brushing over Graves’ bare chest, and all he could do was grasp ahold of the open halves for purchase, for more, for closeness, until Credence was actually starting to move over him, grinding down and wringing a gasp from his throat. His beautiful boy was  _ hard _ , possibly aching.

“Credence, surely you don’t want-”

“Yes! Yes, I do, I need you right now.”

The protests fell to the wayside when Credence was kissing him again, whimpering into his mouth and clinging to him with the strength he’d only seen glimpses of, and thought he imagined most of the time. 

Graves had just enough power to gently vanish and reappear their clothing to over on the couch, and flatten the blanket properly beneath him, so that the floor wasn’t quite so harsh against his already sore limbs, and Credence gasped at the change, before pressing down more insistently, and reaching one hand down between their bodies to graze over Graves’ cock. 

Long neglected, almost ignored, he’d forgotten about it until that moment. Oh, the speed at which he got hard for Credence’s featherlight strokes should have been embarrassing, but he was far from caring. His nerves were alight, singing, delighted to be touched by the one person in the world who he’d ever wanted. But he did know that he didn’t want to come like that, not yet.

“Credence, mmmph, I want to be in-”

“Yes, yes please, touch me Mister Graves, hold me.”

“ _ My boy, _ my darling, I’ve got you.” He could have cried once more, at such blinding trust and adoration from Credence, always so innocent and open even when he was naked on his knees or his back or like that, hovering over him, trembling and desperate with need, cock hard and dripping over Graves’ stomach.

The next kiss was more frantic, as one of his hands slipped down from the boy’s waist to back, between the plush curves of his ass to finger over his cleft, to rub and press onto the tight pucker of his hole, charming for slick, and Credence broke away from his mouth to shudder out a sigh, a low whimper at the first nudge of a fingertip, and he was almost collapsed atop Graves, but still, he weighed nothing, he’d carry his beautiful boy to the ends of the earth if he had to. It would be the easiest task he’d ever been ordered to do in his life.

In the end, Credence started moving first, almost insistently brushing his hand away, pushing back to rut over Graves’ cock, coating it with slick in one pass, and then he was guiding it inside of his slender body, lined up perfect so he could sit down on him, and then it was Graves’ turn to gasp.

It quickly turned to a pained groan as his head fell back to the blanket, not quite thick enough to prevent a bit of contact with the floor. But oh, the tender caring, soft caresses of his face, hands gripping his shoulders, little noises escaping Credence with every thrust, why, it was delicious mind numbing agony of pleasure melding with a bite of discomfort at the ache in his head. 

There was hardly anything of consequence, not when beneath his hands, Credence was straddling him, and slowly rocking back and forth over his cock, tight warmth enough to make him come within barely a few seconds. Shamefully, he swallowed a moan as the boy kissed him once more, and shook against him, dutifully continuing to move. He rolled his hips, and then squealed, as Graves’ cock, still buried inside him, brushed against the spot that could make him finish just as easily.

Graves still wanted to help, to see, to ensure Credence climbed as high as he could, so he wrapped his fingers around the boy’s length and stroked over it as quickly as he dared, feeling the boy clench and shiver over him, spilling onto his chest and over his hand in his eagerness.

“Mister Graves… it’s never been like this.”

When was the last time they’d made love all the way? When had it been more than quick kisses stolen in an alleyway, under cover of magic, and a hasty touch in or over pants? Graves couldn’t even remember.

“I know, I know darling. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no, don’t apologize. I love you.”

“Will we still run away together?”

Graves breathed out a sigh, lifting a hand to pet over his boy’s forehead, carding his fingers through strands damp with sweat.

Credence seemed to perk up, minutely.

“Where could we go?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“I want to visit the ocean, Mister Graves.”

“Maybe we could buy a lighthouse, live by the sea.”

Credence squirmed in his arms, shifting up and off from his spent cock to move to the ground beside him, snuggled against his side, lips pressing into his chest.

“Yes, please.”

“I don’t care where it is, as long as you’re with me, my Northern Star.”

Credence hummed in what had to be agreement, before his breathing slowed. 

Graves swallowed thickly, and summoned another blanket, tucking it around them both, and took in the silence now, the crackling of the fire, the buzzing sound of his boy’s magical aura, protecting them both. 

There was no need for numerous wards, not when he had an Obscurus as powerful as Credence at his side. How could he have been so blind? 

Magic had been bleeding out from Credence’s body the entire time he’d known him, but he’d been so arrogant to think it was all his own power influencing his vision. 

He could be pretty foolish sometimes. But also, he was a damned lucky son of a bitch too.

Credence’s love for him was proof enough of that.

 

* * *

 

**END**


End file.
